


Home Invasion

by Anyawen



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 3 seconds of on-screen interaction leads to a fic, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt, M/M, No Time To Die Trailer, Regret, Stupid decisions, of course it does, unwanted house guests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: Q believed he'd seen the last of James Bond, right up until he opened the door.
Relationships: Past James Bond/Madeleine Swann, Past James Bond/Q - Relationship
Comments: 21
Kudos: 188





	Home Invasion

**Author's Note:**

> All the scrumptious things for AtoTheBean, christinefromsherwood, and J_Baillier for allowing me to borrow their beta eyeballs.

Q glowered as the outer door clicked shut behind Moneypenny. He turned to watch Bond as the retired agent poked around the sitting room, taking in the decor. 

He crossed his arms, waiting, cursing Moneypenny under his breath for not taking the man with her.

"You've redecorated."

"Admire the new paint on your way out, Bond," Q replied, making a shooing motion.

"You wound me, Q."

"If that were remotely true, it would only be fair."

"How so?"

"Don't play stupid, Bond,” Q said, giving the former agent a scathing look. “You were well aware that what we had was more than just sex for me.”

Bond’s expression shifted at Q’s words, acknowledgement and regret suffusing his features. Q cut him off before he could open his mouth to respond.

“I knew that it was nothing more than friends with benefits for you — or, at least, I thought it was. It was a bit of a shock to learn that it was actually so much less."

"Less?" Bond echoed, his expression puzzled.

"Benefits, yes. Friends ... apparently not," Q said, turning away. This shouldn’t still hurt, damn it.

"That's not true." 

Bond’s protest was soft, but somehow urgent.

Q shrugged, moving into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

"Isn't it?” he asked. “Three years and not a word. Not even a bloody postcard."

"You always told me not to send them."

"And you always sent them anyway!” Q retorted, exasperated. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. I was never your friend."

Bond made a noise of disagreement, and Q glared at him.

"Perhaps I was keeping my enemies closer,” Bond tried.

Q barked a humorless laugh.

"Your lines have gotten worse. Just go, Bond. MI6 will have your back."

"And you?" Bond implored.

"I will ensure that you have the equipment you need to complete your mission so you can get back to your solitary retirement."

"I never wanted a _solitary_ retirement."

"Then you'll go back and find some company,” Q replied, sipping from his glass of water and pretending the idea didn’t cut him to the quick. “It's none of my concern, Bond. See yourself out, why don't you? I'll have a kit for you tomorrow."

"What if—"

"It's late, Bond. I do actually hope to sleep tonight."

"—I don't _want_ to go back to retirement, solitary or otherwise?" Bond continued as if Q hadn’t spoken.

"You'll have to take that up with M."

"What if—"

"Damn it, Bond. Just leave, already. You're rather good at it," Q snapped, slamming the glass down on the counter.

"You're angry."

"Brilliant observation,” Q retorted bitterly. “Yes, I'm angry. One of the stages of grieving, haven’t you heard? Turns out I got stuck there after my lover abandoned me!”

Turning his back on Bond Q leaned against the counter and drew in a long, shuddering breath. He pushed his glasses up to press his fingertips into his eyes and fought to regain control.

"You're wrong, you know." Bond’s voice was closer than Q expected.

"Oh?” Q said wearily, voice muffled behind his hands. “Do enlighten me."

"You weren't just a shag. Not even a friend with benefits. That's the reason I left."

"You left because I wasn't even a friend; glad that's sorted. Thanks for that,” Q replied with a humorless huff. He let his glasses fall back into place but refused to look at Bond, who had come close enough that Q could feel his body heat. “Just get out, won’t you?”

"No, Q, that’s not it at all. I left because you were more than a friend. And that … frightened me."

"James Bond, afraid? Of me? Pull the other one,” Q snorted, turning to face Bond. 

Q’s derision drained out of him at the remorse in Bond’s expression.

"I'm not afraid of death, or pain — physical pain. I made my peace with those a long time ago. I am, however, bloody terrified of loss.” At his sides, Bond’s hands clenched into fists. After a moment they relaxed, and he slid them into his pockets. “After Tracy, after Vesper, even after M,” he continued, “I've tried to avoid any kind of emotional attachment. Tried to keep people at a distance. I ... found that becoming difficult with you."

"So you left. Because you were growing ... attached to me?" Q asked, utterly incredulous.

"Because I was falling in love with you, Q,” Bond replied bluntly, taking them both aback.

Q held himself very still as he fought a wave of elation that bubbled up through his hurt and anger. He watched as Bond turned away and began pacing the length of the sitting room, clearly also struggling with something. Affecting a calmness he didn’t feel, Q waited.

Bond stopped pacing and turned to face Q, his expression focused.

“I was falling in love with you,” Bond repeated, the words offered softly, but with a fierceness that spoke of vulnerability and bravery. “So I left, and I stayed away even after Madeleine and I split because I hoped that distance would dull what I was feeling."

"How did that work for you?" Q asked faintly.

"It didn't."

"No?"

"Turns out, I loved you even with half the world between us," Bond said, “All I managed to do by leaving was rush head-first into the loss I was trying to avoid, and hurt you in the process. That was never my intention.”

The weight of Bond’s admission hung between them.

"If you think that's going to get you back into my good graces, let alone into my bed—" Q began, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don't, Q. I don't. I doubt you'd ever let me try to apologise properly, but I _am_ sorry."

Q waved Bond’s earnestness away brusquely. His control over his emotions was tenuous at best, a maelstrom of anger, and hurt, and hope, and distress all simmering just below the surface. If he let Bond’s obvious regret move him he’d not be able to stop the furious tears that threatened to fall.

"Would you ever have come back if it hadn't been for this threat?" Q hoped Bond couldn't hear the slight tremble in his voice.

"I've had return tickets on the noon flight to London on the first of every month for the last two years, Q. I always wanted to come back. Hell, I never wanted to _leave_. I left because I wanted things that scared me. I still do."

"Do you?"

"Do _you_?"

"I ... don't know."

“Not the answer I was hoping for, but entirely fair,” Bond replied wistfully, pulling a hand out of his pocket and offering something to Q.

"What's this?"

"Keys to a storage unit in Croydon."

"Why are you giving them to me?" Q asked, accepting the keys and sending Bond a confused look.

"I thought you might like to have your car back."

"It's ... You took my car and then ... left it in Croydon? Why? Is it damaged?"

"Not a scratch on it. I was on my way to pick Madeleine up when I realised that I didn’t want her anywhere near the car. It was a connection to you, and having her in it would diminish that link. Tarnish it. Overwrite it somehow,” Bond replied, face twisted into a grimace. “I couldn’t stand the thought of that, so I told her there’d been a delay, arranged a garage, and bought a Jag. The Aston has been in storage since the morning I took it."

Q stared at Bond, entirely bemused.

"You took my car, and then put it directly into storage ... because you couldn't bear to let her in it."

“Yes.”

Q almost smiled at the absurdity of it all before exhaustion washed over him and he sighed.

"Bond. James. It's late. I'm tired, and angry, and … this is just a lot to take in. There's a mission to worry about before I can even begin processing everything you've told me. I think I might be inclined to let you try to apologise, but I don't know if it will ever translate to trusting you again, no matter how I feel about you."

"Take your time, Q. Be sure. I am."

"What you are, James Bond, is a bloody bastard. Now get out so I can get some sleep."

"Yes, Quartermaster. Sleep well."

"Not bloody likely,” Q muttered as he watched James leave. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and groaned. What was he meant to do with James’ confession? What did he want to do with it?

Q activated the flat’s security system and headed upstairs. He went through the motions of preparing for bed, dodging the cats as they eeled between his legs and ignoring their requests for petting, his thoughts occupied with James’ return. He’d changed into pyjamas, taken off his glasses and was about to put his phone on the charging pad when it buzzed in his hand. He was diverted from answering it when the security system beeped.

The outer door had been opened.

“Damn it, James,” Q growled, thudding back down the stairs. “You’re not helping your case any by crowding me.”

He paused at the foot of the stairs, peering nearsightedly at the unnaturally pale face distorted by the privacy glass.

It wasn’t James.

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was obviously born from the *brief* interaction between Bond and Q in the No Time to Die trailer. While I was writing it I happened upon a handful of blogs that were discussing the possibility that the pale, masked face seen through the privacy glass of what was clearly the inner door of Q's flat was an indication that Q was going to be kidnapped. It felt like a perfect match to build that into an ending given the direction the ficlet was going. Having done so, I am now being hounded by my betas to know WHAT HAPPENS NEXT, with poor Q kidnapped before he can even think about all that James has revealed, and James off trying to focus on the mission when he wants to be rescuing Q (and murderizing anyone involved in his abduction). We'll see what the muse brings me :)


End file.
